Running Out Of Ammunition
by monkey-in-hell
Summary: Alex finally gives in.
1. Chapter 1

A/N I blame a lot of things for this but mostly I hold the never ending wait for series two responsible.

Running Out Of Ammunition

If she was honest with herself she could admit that this had been inevitable from the very beginning. She just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, preferring instead to focus on her parents, or on some vital clue in whatever case was taxing her brain at the time, in the hopes that she would find a way out of this world. During those first few months it had been fairly easy to do just that; stopping Tim and Caroline Price from dying so horribly was going to be her way of going home and she'd been so certain of that, so sure that the timing was far too coincidental for her not to be there for any other reason, that she'd been reluctant to let anything else - especially him - get in her way. But of course fate had other plans for her; those tantalising leads that she'd followed up so meticulously had led nowhere useful and her parents had slipped out of her life once again, leaving her with nothing but a few loose ends and him. And she couldn't keep on fighting against it any longer.

She took the first step onto the landing, her hand snaking inside of her jeans' pocket for her key, managing to rescue it from its confines just as she reached the door to her flat. Coming to a stop outside of the entrance she heard his heavier footsteps nearing her before one of his hands came to settle on her backside, announcing his arrival and his intentions. She swallowed hard at the contact, his hold neither too possessive nor too gentle - just enough to send her stomach into spasms.

Ignoring the contact as best as she could she reached up to unlock the door but her hand shook slightly at the thought of what she was about to do and she had to struggle against both the tremors and those thoughts to get the key anywhere near the lock. It was only his hand, the other still firmly planted on another part of her body, that allowed her to complete the task by guiding her hand and the key it held towards the target but he stopped her movements there, long fingers preventing her from turning the key. She gazed at their hands, at the warmth between them, at skin touching skin, and her thoughts turned decidedly indecent.

"Are you sure about this, Alex?" he whispered over her shoulder and into her ear, his hand still holding hers in place.

Shivering involuntarily at the warmth of his breath she wondered if he could feel her tremble, if he could feel how nervous she really was and how uncertain she suddenly felt at his words. She supposed that her hand had already given her away in that respect - to both of them. When she had finally acknowledged what had been staring her in the face she'd been reluctant to actually do anything about it at first. Acting on it would mean accepting some things, about herself and about this place, that she wasn't entirely happy with and, much more than that, it felt horribly like betrayal. It was only the slow, tortuous passage of time, with her chances of going home seeming to decrease as each day went by, that had persuaded her to pursue this further despite her concerns over the potential consequences of her actions. She'd been so confident downstairs in Luigi's earlier in the evening; drinking with him in their usual corner, flirting with him more than ever before, boldly inviting him up to her flat - she needed to regain that certainty if she was going to go through with this.

She took a deep breath, slipped her hand out of his and, leaving the key sticking in the lock, turned around. Her back now facing the door, and his left hand now resting flat against it, just near her head, she smiled up at him. She had just enough alcohol in her system to convince her that her doubts were unfounded but she hadn't thought that she'd have to convince him any further. He'd certainly seemed to have got the message when they were downstairs, knocking back his pint to swiftly follow her out of the restaurant, but now his eyes were searching hers, silently repeating the question, asking her once again if she really wanted this, and gently warning her that there would be no going back from this point. The latter was something that she was intrinsically aware of - she'd debated the pros and cons for long enough - and she reached out to him, snagging his jacket with both hands, the trembling not so noticeable this time. He remained still, only his eyes shifting briefly to her lips, as she leant upwards slowly, keeping her eyes on his throughout until her mouth reached its goal.

He tasted of beer and cigarettes, not two of her favourite things but combined with the softness of his lips the mixture was intoxicating. She closed her eyes in surrender to the sensation as at first one of his hands, and then the other, came to rest at her waist. She'd thought about kissing him for so long, had idled away more time than she'd like to admit wondering how it would feel to have his lips against her own, to have his hands hold her close, but she'd never factored in how worryingly easily the real thing would make her want to give in completely. And doing so right there and then wasn't part of the plan.

She broke the kiss, pulling back slightly as her hands flattened against his chest to ease him away. She could still see traces of those questions in his eyes and she sought to satisfy him further. "I'm sure," she added on reassuringly, holding onto the last bit of her breath as she waited for his response, her lips still tingling pleasantly. They'd almost been here once before and he'd turned her down back then though she had - in hindsight - been quite pissed at the time. She'd merely been pissed off the next day, almost aggrieved in fact but she'd also been surprised. His actions that night had been unexpected and she'd seen a different Gene Hunt to the one she'd heard about from Sam Tyler. The 'incident' had played in her head for a long time after that; had she simply 're-imagined' him or was there something more to Gene than he ever let on? It was a conundrum that still puzzled her though she hoped to make a breakthrough tonight.

Gene only kissed her in reply, pressing her up against the door before she had time to register that he'd accepted her answer. She melted ridiculously easily under his onslaught, one hand rising to the back of his head to draw him closer into her whilst the other flailed blindly for the key that was sticking out of the lock. Somewhere in the midst of her fumbling his hand raised to hers once more and the key was turned, the door falling open behind her.

They stumbled inside, still joined at the mouth, somehow managing to take the keys out of the lock, switch on the lights, and slam the door shut behind them in the process. She was fairly sure that he must have done most of it because in the melee of legs, arms, hands and tongues she could feel her control of the situation slipping further and further away from her, his murmured words of desire against her lips only fuelling a fire she hadn't expected to take flame so quickly.

"Wait," she gasped, parting them once again as they lurched towards the kitchen. He looked suitably surprised, and maybe a little put out, but obeyed her request anyway. Catching her breath, completely unprepared for the overwhelming desire that just kissing him had sparked within her, to the point that she was having to fight with the urge to just abandon all of her plans for tonight because she was in way over her head, she managed to assemble a few thoughts. "Give me one moment," she smiled at him, her hands sliding shakily to his and gently prising away his hold on her. "I just need to... ," she tapered off, unable to tell him exactly what she needed, and indicated behind her instead, figuring he would fill in the blanks with something appropriate.

His curious gaze briefly left hers to follow the directions towards her bedroom door. "I'll come with you," he offered with a smile of his own.

"No," she said firmly, one hand moving to rest on his chest and stop him in his tracks. "There's no hurry," she added on softly. "Why don't you wait here? There's a bottle of wine on the counter - glasses are on the side." He nodded once in disappointed agreement and she swallowed hard at his gaze, his eyes burning into her. She wasn't sure if it was the desire or the understanding in his eyes that was adding to the swirl of emotions inside of her but she desperately needed some time to recover before she could go any further with this. She slowly turned away and headed towards her bedroom, knowing he was quietly watching her every step of the way.

Escaping into the relative darkness of her bedroom her steps slowed and she willed her heartbeat to do the same. She laid one palm flat against the cool wall just inside of the door and closed her eyes against the light that was spilling into the room. She could still taste him on her lips, could still feel his hands on her and behind her closed lids she could see him so clearly, could see the way he'd looked at her. Opening her eyes quickly she shook off the images and stumbled forwards, her leg hitting the mattress of the bed after a few steps. She let out a long slow breath as she eased herself down onto her bed, her hands resting at her sides, fingers gripping at the duvet cover as her thoughts wrestled with her conscience and her desires tried to step into the ring too. It was a fight she'd played out before and it was always a closely fought contest. Whilst there was a good chance that this could be the best decision she'd ever made – and it could very well be her last chance at happiness - there was also the distinct possibility that it could all go stupendously wrong and if it didn't work out she'd be ruining something that was very dear to her.

"Bols?" Gene's voice bounced impatiently through the door.

"I'll be right there," she hollered back with more confidence than she felt, wondering how long she'd been sat there. It had only felt like a minute or two but it could have been longer, her thoughts were in such a mess that it could have been an hour. She stayed completely still for a moment, her heart in her mouth, waiting to see if he would comply with her request and continue to wait for her or if he would come looking for her instead. In the silence of the room she could hear him moving around the flat and she mapped his travels in her head, briefly closing her eyes once more, in resignation this time, when she heard him move from the kitchen to the living room.

In the living room he'd see the mural on the wall, the one she'd been working on since she'd arrived here; the one she'd continued working on even though the countdown to the death of her parents - and to her longed for rebirth in 2008 - had passed. Bringing him up here had not been without its pitfalls but she couldn't think of anywhere else to do this; there were too many people around the station and the same went for Luigi's - plus she didn't want to risk the old Italian interrupting at an inopportune moment. Her flat seemed the best idea despite its unusual decor but right about now Gene probably thought she was a fruitcake. Then again, he'd always thought she was a bit loopy - and maybe she was. Slowly retrieving the item she'd come in for from underneath her pillow, she rose to her feet and stepped back towards the light.

Only his jacket and the now half empty glass of wine greeted her in the kitchen and she held her cargo tighter at the sight. Edging further forward through the kitchen she found him stood, with a glass of wine in each hand, exactly where she knew he would be: in front of the mural.

"Alex..." Gene started to ask as he slowly turned towards her but he didn't finish the sentence as his eyes travelled to the gun in her hand. A flash of surprise briefly crossed his face before he recovered. "You going to handcuff me too?"

When her supposed way home had gone up in flames she'd had to re-evaluate everything she knew - and thought she knew - about what had happened to her, exactly where she was and how she could escape. Doing so had meant going back to the start, to before she'd even arrived here, to what DCI Tyler had told her, to the very thing she'd been ignoring. Sam had spoken vividly of a world that had felt real to him in every sense, stocked with characters that had acted independently and of events that were distinctly plausible but he'd also told her how he'd managed to escape. Only now could she truly understand Sam's overwhelming desire to get home; only now could she appreciate what he'd had to do to get out of here. What she needed to do if she wanted to go home. She had to destroy Gene Hunt.

"No," she whispered over the lump that was beginning to form in her throat, "I'm going to end this."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I still blame this on the long wait for series two. There should be one last chapter to this story but I'm in two minds about it - and both of them are full of all those lovely spoilers...

Running Out Of Ammunition

Chapter Two

"What are you talking about, Alex?"

She found herself wishing that he'd shouted the question at her, had bellowed out the frustration and anger that must have been inside of him after the stunt she'd just pulled, but his voice had been quiet, almost calm, as if he really had no idea what she intended to do. She gripped the weapon tightly in her hand at the thought but one finger, the one that was resting just over the trigger rather than on it, refused to co-operate in the movement. The handle dug painfully into her palm as she tried unsuccessfully to summon the strength - both physically and mentally - to raise her arm, and the gun it carried, upwards. It would have been that bit easier for her if he had exploded in some way; easier to dislike him, easier to hold him responsible for everything, easier to pull the bloody trigger. Maybe.

She'd known that this would be difficult - it was why she'd been reluctant to act when she'd finally acknowledged that destroying Gene could be her only way home - but she'd managed to convince herself that it was necessary, vital if she ever wanted to see her daughter again. Thoughts of Molly had been enough to get her this far but now she wondered if she really did have the strength to end this. He was watching her silently, his face unreadable but clearly waiting for some kind of explanation from her and the sight of him stood there, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his eyes burning into hers, made her waver further. Maybe it had been a mistake to kiss him. To let his lips tingle across her own, to let his hands burn a path through her clothes, to let him awaken something inside of her that she'd pretended wasn't - just couldn't be - there. She should have just walked calmly into CID, smiled sweetly at the rest of the team and opened the door to his office for one last time. Or stalked downstairs to the restaurant, made her through the smoke filled, chatter ridden room and done the deed there instead. The problem with both of those scenarios was the large contingency of police officers that would be in attendance - most of them extremely loyal towards their Guv - and her, now proven, theory that this wouldn't be as easy as it really should be.

"I'm sorry, Gene," she managed to squeeze out, pushing that lump in her throat out of the way. When she thought about her situation rationally, and when there was no one else around to distract her, she could convince herself that there was nothing wrong with what she was about to do; this place was merely a creation of her mind and therefore so was Gene. She wasn't going to shoot a real person, just destroy a collection of ideas and images, and needs that her head had cobbled together into a mind-bafflingly attractive package. But even her rational and ordered mind wasn't strong enough to fully dismiss this world or any of its inhabitants as completely fake, not when she was so close to him, not when he was there in front of her quietly challenging her to believe that he was anything other than real. And Gene did feel real enough to her - and not just because of tonight's exploits, though the last ten minutes of her life here had certainly helped reinforce that feeling. From the very beginning he'd always seemed so solid and alive to her. She'd felt his heart beat so soundly her first day here, the sensation leaving her in complete amazement; she'd felt his heart beat just as strongly only minutes ago when she'd prised him away, the sensation only leaving her in pieces. He was the man who had somehow taken her hand as a little girl and had made her feel so safe on the worst day of her childhood; the man who had made her feel just as safe in this world as an adult when at times she hadn't thought she'd make it through to the next day, wouldn't make it home to Molly. And she needed to get home to her daughter. "I have to do this," she said firmly, more to try and convince herself than anything else.

He stared at her for a beat before replying. "You don't have to do anything."

There was an unspoken offer, both in his eyes and his words. She hadn't aimed her gun at him nor had she made any sort of verbal threat; he was giving her the opportunity to end this in a completely different way, probably mentally inking up the stamp marked 'fruitcake' as he did so, and she was heavily tempted to take him up on the offer. It had felt so good earlier, to have his arms around her, his lips against hers, to be desired by him. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so wanted, not by a man anyway. A life here with Gene could give her the very thing she didn't have in 2008.

Perhaps taking her silence as agreement, Gene took a step towards her and she recoiled backwards quickly in response, her arm finally jerking upwards, the gun still firmly in her hand. She didn't need to qualify the action with words: he stopped dead in front of her, a disappointed sigh escaping from the thin line of his mouth. It was only a reflex action on her part but it pushed her that bit further towards her goal. She took a deep breath but the finger that was hovering over the trigger of her gun still refused to move. The gun was keeping him at a distance at least; she had an awful feeling that if he got close enough to touch her what little courage she had would desert her. But the ongoing silence wasn't helping either and she couldn't stand here like this all night. Time wasn't going to make this any easier - it never had. If she'd faced up to this at the beginning, before she'd grown to like him, to even like this outdated and garish world, and to think of him, at the very least, as a friend this would have been so much easier. Her hand started to tremble, the gun wobbling in response and exposing her ongoing uncertainty further. It didn't go unnoticed by Gene. She watched his gaze rise from her outstretched arm and back to her eyes, trying to appear confident as she wrestled against the traitorous muscles and tendons of her hand. He probably thought that she wouldn't be able to go through with it or that there was a chance he could talk her out of it. She was in danger of letting both of those options come true.

"I do. You see, I've worked it out, Gene," she said as firmly as she could, momentarily pleased with herself that the words had betrayed no more of the turmoil rifling through her and her hand regaining some of its composure as she spoke. Her finger finally pressed against the trigger, her heart pounding furiously in her chest at the contact but she couldn't complete the action. DCI Tyler had been able to do this, to overcome that sense of loyalty that Gene seemed to imbue in his officers, so why couldn't she? She was stronger than Sam; when she made it back to 2008 she wouldn't throw the opportunity away and just abandon everything she'd fought so hard for. And she had to fight harder, be stronger, than Sam to get home. All he'd had to do was bring Gene down - and DCI Hunt of the GMP had flouted both procedure and the law frequently enough to give Sam all the ammunition he'd needed to escape. But her Gene wasn't the same man he'd been back then; Sam's influence, or perhaps her own warped mind, or maybe even the decade itself, had changed him - he wasn't quite a model policeman but Sam's way of escaping wasn't going to work for her. She had to take a step further than Sam, which wasn't entirely unachievable but it was horribly complicated by the feelings she had for Gene Hunt - feelings she was certain Sam Tyler had never had to overcome.

A flicker of something unreadable passed across Gene's features at her announcement before he turned his head to look at her mural once more. With a glass of wine still in each hand, both hanging loosely at his sides, his attention stayed on the wall for a long moment. "Have you?" he finally asked, turning back towards her, taking another small step forward as he did so, his eyes only mirroring the doubt that had filled his question.

She took an immediate step backwards in response, his words digging insidiously into her thoughts as she moved. Two little words yet they made her question everything she'd struggled to accept about this world, about what Sam had told her, about what she needed to do. He could have been humouring her of course but there was something in his tone, and in the way he'd glanced back at the mural, that suggested otherwise. She wondered if he was finally being honest with her. Sitting Gene down - or any of them for that matter - and getting a straight answer about her existence in this world had always led her nowhere. She'd tried to talk to him, many times over - and then with more fervour than ever before when she'd realised what she had to do to escape - in the hopes of working out what was happening to her, what this world actually represented. But she would inevitably be brushed off as a 'fruitcake' - or some other such insult that was always given with what seemed to be grudging acceptance - or just point blank ignored. If she'd known that all she needed to do was wave a gun at him she would have tried this sooner. "You're the one keeping me here," she answered evenly, trying not to make what she had spent so long convincing herself was true sound like the question it now was.

"I'm just been trying to keep you safe, Alex," he countered slowly, taking another step forward, a sad line creeping across his mouth.

She shivered slightly at his words. They were entirely ambiguous of course - they always were - but she couldn't help but wonder at the meaning behind them. Her hand wavered slightly once more as she studied his face for any trace behind his words. She was sure that he was being truthful with her, that he believed he was keeping her safe, but she couldn't work out what he thought he was saving her from. Just the danger of this constructed world or something else, something bigger? Or maybe she was reading too much into his words; maybe she wanted to hear something that wasn't there so she wouldn't have to pull the trigger.

He took another step towards her, forcing her to continue their odd little dance. She stepped backwards once more but this time she came into contact with the kitchen counter, the bump and the surprise making her hand lower a little. With nowhere left for her to go Gene took the opportunity to close in on her, only stopping when the gun in her outstretched hand pressed lightly into his chest, just above his heart. The location glared accusingly at her, the harsh light in the kitchen bouncing off the metal of her gun like some kind of beacon, making her wonder if its final destination was entirely accidental.

She tore her eyes away from the sight, meeting his once more but she only shivered again at what she saw there, at the concern that lay behind them. She'd wanted some kind of truth from him but she hadn't wanted this; this, like his kisses and his caresses, was only making it harder for her. More than ever before she felt truly torn between her two worlds: the desire to go home to her daughter only marred by what she needed to do to achieve it; the desire to stay here with Gene only sullied by the thought of abandoning Molly. He said nothing, the silence unbearable but she couldn't seem to find her voice either.

She could only stand there, immobile and silent, as Gene slowly placed the glasses of untouched wine onto the counter to the side of them. She knew what was coming next but she did nothing to stop it, could only watch as he lightly raised one, now empty, hand. His skin was warm against her own as he covered her hand with his for the second time that night. She dropped her gaze away from his eyes and to their joined hands, unsure of exactly who was now holding the gun in place. If he removed his hand she felt certain that hers would fall away too and the gun would trickle out of her grasp. Her hand felt almost alien to her, awash with pins and needles style numbness, as if it belonged to someone else. But she could still feel him. She could feel his fingers across the back of her hand, the tips grazing her wrist, his thumb brushing over the knuckle of her trigger finger. And she thought of earlier in the evening, of how exquisite his hands had felt elsewhere on her body, of how she'd wanted him to touch every inch of her.

"Is this how you really want it to end, Alex?"

She drew her gaze upwards at the sound of his voice, meeting blue eyes that she'd grown so fond of, that she knew she'd never forget no matter what. There was no challenge in his eyes, only that gentle warning once more but this time there really would be no going back. As she struggled for an answer it struck her that all he had to do was push her hand away and this would be over, she wouldn't be able to stop him. Part of her wished that he would, that he would make the decision for her. But he didn't move, just held onto her hand and her gaze, waiting for her answer. "I just want to see my little girl again," she whispered quietly and truthfully.

Gene nodded once, a sad sort of understanding behind his eyes, as if this all made perfect sense to him. She swallowed hard at the sight, at the knowledge that she didn't really want to do this, and at the thought that she didn't have to. A life here with Gene Hunt was more attractive than it ought to be and under different circumstances she certainly could have accepted it. But she feared that a life here with him would always be consumed by the thought of the one she had left behind, would always be a life spent wondering if she'd missed her one chance to get home.

"I really am sorry, Gene," she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Thanks to everyone who read and big thanks to those who reviewed. Last part; don't know about anyone else but I'm relieved it's over...

Running Out Of Ammunition

Chapter Three

"Shooting me isn't going to work," Gene said softly into the silence.

Alex tried to ignore what he'd said, and the way he'd spoken to her, because he was only trying to talk his way - and her - out of this. Wasn't he? She tried to squeeze the trigger of her gun but her finger wouldn't move, the message from her brain getting lost somewhere between her head and her hand. She silently cursed him and herself for her failure. She tried again, one last desperate bid, concentrating on Molly and willing her finger to move but there was a complete lack of co-operation once more. Despite her best efforts to dismiss his words they swirled invitingly around her head, chipping away at her already cracked resolve and steering her away from her goal. It didn't help that he was staring - almost knowingly it seemed like - at her, quietly letting the gravity of his words sink in. The ambiguity was evident once more but she felt herself being drawn in; let herself get drawn in by them. The doubt that had raised its head just moments ago when he'd questioned the validity of her reasoning made another appearance too. Maybe it had never really gone away, only hidden by his sudden proximity and her burning desire to go home. She swallowed hard, her throat dry and sore as the doubts rampaged through her thoughts and carefully laid out plan. She'd always told herself that her initial resistance to pursuing this route had lain in the actual act itself; she'd never shot anybody before - never even shot at anybody - so aiming a gun at Gene, at someone she'd come to like, someone she had barely suppressed feelings for, was always going to be difficult. But maybe some of her reluctance had lain in the possibility that destroying Gene wouldn't actually send her home. As much as she'd placed her faith in Sam's narration it had been an account of his world, not hers.

She struggled to cling on to the belief that Gene really was her jailer, that he was the one keeping her in this world. He'd stopped her escaping from the very start, cruising in on that speedboat, machine gun in hand like he was some hero from an 80s tv cop show when she hadn't needed his help; if she'd taken care of Layton there and then she would have, unknowingly at that point, prevented her parents deaths and in doing so might have been able to go home too. What had Gene said to her that day? Something along the lines of her having to stay in this world a bit longer - and at his behest. And it had been Gene who had released her parents from custody the morning they'd died; if they'd remained behind bars for just a few more hours she could have changed everything, she could have gone home. Couldn't she? In truth it was a belief that she could neither prove or disprove - it would only ever be a theory. Just as her belief that going through with this would finally send her home was only a theory - until she pulled the trigger and tested it. But now she couldn't shake off the suggestion that shooting him might only result in a bloody mess and a lengthy jail sentence. "Isn't it?" she asked hesitantly, feeling her nerve crumble that bit further as she spoke.

"Think about it, Alex," Gene offered quietly, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of her hand, drawing her closer towards him without either of them moving. "What a bullet will do. What will happen afterwards."

Her breath caught in her throat at his reply and she could only stare at him, quietly returning his gaze as her heart started to thump wildly once again. He could have been talking about himself, about how the bullet in her gun would pierce his heart and end his life. But he could also have been talking about her, about her own mortality. It didn't matter if he was only trying to preserve his own life or if he was carefully directing her to question her own; she was already thinking about 2008, already grasping at an answer that she'd never really considered. She screwed her eyes shut, blocking out Gene and the bright lights of the kitchen, and thought about that day on the boat, the day her world had come crashing down around her. She could still picture Layton, the way he had ended the phone call and then donned those mirrored sunglasses. Behind her eyes she could still see her reflection, the image of her modern self desperately trying to salvage the situation even as Layton raised his gun towards her, the etchings along the chamber ingrained just as deeply in her memories as they were on the metal, and how he had fired the weapon without even hesitating. There'd been no conscience to hold Layton back, nothing to stop him from pulling the trigger. She could still see the bullet now; could still remember the way her head had exploded at the contact; how - on occasion - it still ached in that very same spot.

She snapped her eyes open, her stomach suddenly souring and the alcohol that lay there desperately trying to escape. She swallowed down the bitter bile that had surged into the back of her throat with a struggle, the awful acidic taste remaining there. Her legs felt weak underneath her and she was sure that the only thing holding her up was the counter behind her. "No," she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head as she spoke, as if she could make it all disappear with one word. "It can't be over..." She had to get back, she had to keep on fighting; Molly needed her.

Gene was still quietly watching her, his gaze awash with sadness and concern. As if he was confirming without words, without ever showing his hand, what now seemed so horribly obvious to her. She was lying on a decrepit boat with a bullet lodged in her head. Layton wasn't going to help her and even if someone had heard the shot and came to her rescue, time was always going to be against her. Her chances of receiving medical attention quick enough were painfully slim. She wasn't going to just get up, dust herself down and walk away from what had happened. Sam had stood a fighting chance; he'd been in a coma in hospital, he'd had sounds and visions to tell him as much and maybe that was why it had been easier for him to return. But she understood now that it wasn't going to happen for her. The only inevitability she'd been avoiding all this time - the only one that mattered anyway - was her own impending death. If she went back it would only be for a few brief seconds and only to die on that boat, cold and alone, without ever seeing Molly again.

Her eyes filled with teary acceptance as the truth about this world, and her place in it, finally sunk in. She held onto her tears, refusing to let them fall as Gene continued to look on silently, his gaze turning unreadable and distorted by the blur of her watery eyes. His thumb stilled its movements and she missed the sensation instantly, the full implications of her actions catching up with her with one action. If only she'd acknowledged sooner that there was no way back for her, before she'd forced herself down this path. Now, not only had she lost all hope of ever going home she had also ruined her only chance of happiness in this world too. Whatever Gene had felt for her just minutes earlier would no longer matter; she'd tried to shoot him, had given him more than enough ammunition to get her thrown out of the force and locked up in the loony bin for whatever time she had left here. Despite all of the logical but brutal reasoning, the tortured soul searching and the sleepless nights that had resulted in her decision she'd ended up losing everything anyway.

The barrel of her gun sparkled at her through her tears and her gaze was drawn towards it like a magnet; the slight movement of her head set the first of her tears free, falling silently onto the kitchen floor, their comrades following relentlessly behind them. An idea flashed into her head as the gun became clearer before her eyes: there was still a way out of this for her, one that didn't involve hurting Gene or anyone else and one that she'd never considered before. If she couldn't go back to Molly, if her life here was now marred by her actions tonight, then there really was no point going on, in staying here. There was some kind of perverse logic that appealed to her in the idea that her life here would end in the same way her other life would: with a bullet to the brain.

She tugged at her hand and it slipped out of his grasp fairly easily. There was the briefest flash of relief behind his eyes at the action and it mirrored her own, though she suspected they were for different reasons. She knew now that if she was going to do this, time was important - the longer she took the less likely she was to go through with it. But she didn't get the chance to raise her arm and the gun much higher than it had already been because his hand was on hers again, forcing it down to her side, stopping her once more. The action drew him closer towards her, close enough to see the anger spill across his face for the first time that night. He'd known exactly what she was about to do.

"Bols," he growled after a moment, his voice low but without the anger she had just witnessed. "It doesn't have to be over."

His hand held her wrist firmly against the kitchen cabinets, his eyes - now much closer - searching her own. Through the mess of her jumbled and tormented thoughts she realised then that she'd been right all along: he was her jailer. Just as he'd stopped her from going home, from going back to a life that no longer existed, he'd also stopped her from succumbing to death in this world too. He'd rescued her from the Cales' freezer when she'd been so close to giving up. He'd stopped her from stepping out onto the road and into the path of the traffic when she'd been so disorientated on that first bewildering day. But she also realised that in keeping her here he was also keeping her safe. This world - and maybe Gene himself - was offering her some kind of sanctuary; she just needed to give in, to stop fighting. She let the gun tumble noisily to the floor, his gaze softening at her submission.

"Gene..." she began, the name sliding off her tongue so very easily but no other words followed. She wanted to apologise, to explain, to ask him the questions that were now floating around her head, but she didn't know where to start. Didn't know how to start without sounding more crazy than she already appeared. As much as she had finally worked out what was happening to her she wasn't sure how much he understood, not just about her but about this world too. About what had really happened tonight. He'd nudged her towards her devastating revelation but was it intentional or not? Did it really matter?

He sighed softly before pulling her towards him and she threw herself onto his chest, physically drained and emotionally spent. Her face came to rest against his neck and she could feel his pulse throbbing against her cheek, could smell the cigarettes, the booze and him. His chest rose and fell against her own as his hands smoothed gently down her back. He still felt so very real to her and all she could find the strength to do was hold on to him, letting her tears fall harder.


End file.
